


It's Hard to Love

by julien (julie)



Series: A Cop and a Mountie [4]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1996-07-13
Updated: 1996-07-13
Packaged: 2020-10-24 15:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20708627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: Ray and Fraser struggle to feel properly comfortable in their evolving relationship. Meanwhile Francesca pursues her dreams in her real-estate career.





	It's Hard to Love

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** There are two stories left in this sequence - and by the end it becomes a real ‘picking out the curtains’ wallow, you have been warned! At which point I can safely leave this particular incarnation of Ray and his Benny to their forever-after domestic bliss. 
> 
> As with COMMUNION, I’ve cut a scene in this story that hasn’t aged so well. 
> 
> The musical interludes in this story are provided by PRAYING FOR TIME by George Michael and (in the grand DUE SOUTH tradition) ICE CREAM by Sarah McLachlan.
> 
> **First published:** 13 July 1996 in my zine Pure Maple Syrup 2

# It’s Hard to Love 

♦

_these are the days of the open hand_  
they will not be the last  
look around now  
these are the days of the beggars and the choosers

_this is the year of the hungry man_  
whose place is in the past  
hand in hand  
with ignorance and legitimate excuses

♦

Saturday night. A family dinner at the Vecchios’ home. Everyone was there: Maria and Tony and their assorted children; Francesca and Ma Vecchio and uncle Luigi; Ray Vecchio and Benton Fraser. As usual it was a comfortable and noisy way to spend an evening, with a hearty meal, and several long rambling concurrent conversations that everyone participated in, often at cross purposes.

Every now and then Ray glanced at Fraser sitting beside him. Some odd little concern was niggling at the cop. He and the Mountie had been doing this ever since Fraser first came to Chicago – Ray had been bringing Fraser home for a family dinner every few days, first as friends, then during the last seven-and-a-half months as lovers. By about four months ago, everyone at this table had known he and Benny were lovers, including the kids as far as they understood such things. There had been a remarkable acceptance of that fact. Most had actually expressed, in one way or another, welcome for Fraser and happiness for Ray. Despite all this, Fraser always sat very quietly at these gatherings, eating steadily, and paying attention to all that went on around him, but talking infrequently. Never laughing. Which maybe wasn’t surprising for a reserved kind of guy like Benny – but Ray had to wonder if his lover would ever feel he truly belonged here.

Francesca was leaning across the table, asking Fraser if he’d like more bread, cutting a slice and passing it over with a broad grin.

‘Thank you kindly,’ the Mountie said with an answering smile.

‘Any time,’ Francesca promised him. ‘Just you remember which Vecchio knows how to look after you best, OK?’

The poor guy looked a little conscious for a moment, but then rallied and said politely, ‘You all take care of me and Diefenbaker so well that we are in danger of becoming quite spoiled.’

She grinned. ‘Spoiled? When’s your use-by date, Benton? We’ll have to make sure Ray uses you all up by then. Do you need help there, brother? Wouldn’t want to waste any…’

‘I’ve told you before, don’t tease the Mountie,’ Ray muttered.

Fraser was speaking as well: ‘I didn’t mean spoiled in that sense –’

‘Oh yeah,’ Francesca said to Fraser, ‘I can just see you and the wolf both turning into hopeless hedonists, as selfish as two-year-olds.’

‘Hey,’ Ray called to his sister over the general clamour, ‘did you make that sale today?’

Francesca’s grin turned wry, and she sat back with a shrug. ‘No.’

‘What? I thought it was a sure thing.’

‘Nothing’s ever sure in real estate deals, Ray.’ She considered her brother for a moment. ‘Anyway, they’re where they want to be, that’s the important thing.’

‘You lost their business,’ Ray retorted: ‘that’s important.’

Shaking her head, Francesca leaned forward again, showing off her cleavage. ‘Ray thinks I’m my own worst enemy,’ she explained to Fraser. ‘See, I have this strategy. If the people are comfortable with it, I ask to see their current home. I spend a little time there, I get a feel for who they are and how they live. I ask what they love about the place, and what they’d change. _Then_ I know what to look for in a new home for them.’

Fraser nodded thoughtfully. ‘That seems to be a sensible and innovative strategy, Francesca.’

‘Yeah, I’m kind of pleased with it. Because I like finding _homes_ for people, you know? Not houses, not the lowest prices, not compromises. Homes that fit, like our home fits us.’

‘A commendable approach,’ Fraser said.

Ray asked, ‘So how did you lose the sale?’

‘They realised they loved their old home, and all it needed was an extension and the kitchen renovated.’

‘You’re crazy,’ Ray said. ‘A real estate agent who helps people realise they love their old place after all.’

Francesca shrugged again. ‘If you saw their smiles, you’d do the same. I gave them the name of a good builder –’

‘Who’ll give you a commission,’ Ray suggested firmly.

‘No.’ She gave him the wide-eyed look that meant, _Can you really be this dumb?_ ‘What goes around, comes around, right? You know that. You’re not a cop for the sake of making arrests and putting notches in your gun-belt – you’re a cop because you want to help people. Same thing.’

‘You’ve got the wrong guy. Am I wearing a hat?’

She shook her head at him, full of pity. ‘You’re all talk, Raymond. The only person you fool is yourself.’ And Francesca turned away to converse with one of her nephews.

Ray shrugged, avoided eye contact with Fraser, and waited impatiently for the meal to end.

Fraser, of course, helped wash up. Everyone else simply took their turn throughout the week, sometimes helping and sometimes not, but Fraser _always_ finished a family dinner by washing up. And he didn’t do it like he was family pitching in, either – more like he was a guest who owed a debt of gratitude.

Sighing, Ray waited, sitting at the kitchen table amidst all the kerfuffle. His family adored Benny, and that was fine, Ray got a kick out of how they each had a connection with him. Ma would ask him about his work at the Consulate, as fascinated by all the details of diplomatic etiquette as if it was life on a different planet. Then she’d talk to him about America and Italy, tell him about the family’s heritage. As for Francesca, she was at last comfortable enough with Fraser to flirt with him again, though in a far less threatening way than she used to when she thought she could win him. Fraser scrupulously didn’t respond, but his manner with her was a little friendlier now than with other people, acknowledging some shared history. The kids all thought Uncle Benny was the best plaything they’d ever had – he was tireless in mucking around with them. Of course it was always Mounties and Inuits rather than cowboys and Indians. As for Ray – well, though everyone here knew he and Fraser were lovers, the pair only ever related to each other as friends here in Ray’s home.

Fraser was finally tidying up, wiping down the empty sink. ‘Come on, Benny,’ Ray said, standing and shifting his chair back under the table. ‘I’ll drive you home.’

Ma protested this plan. ‘Poor boy, he’s been working hard. At least let him have another cup of coffee and put his feet up for a few minutes.’

_Give me a break_, Ray silently pleaded. ‘It’s been a long day, Ma, let me take him home.’ It would have been smarter to say Fraser was tired – anything would be agreed to for the Mountie’s sake.

However, she grudgingly let them go. Ray kissed her on the cheek, and she beamed encouragingly at Fraser until he did, too. A truly gentle man. Ray couldn’t help but smile for a moment, though he felt weary and sad.

They drove home in silence. Perhaps Fraser was contemplating something, too. Ray often figured he had no idea what went on behind that handsome face.

The Mountie never even asked these days, though he used to be so polite about it – the cop simply followed him upstairs to Fraser’s apartment. Their life together revolved around certain patterns, as far as was possible for two law enforcement officers. They reached apartment 3J, walked in, closed the door behind them, and Fraser gathered Ray into a strong embrace.

‘Ah, no,’ Ray murmured. But his arms were lifting to circle that sturdy waist, and Fraser’s mouth on his silenced any possible demurral. Slipping into sweetness, all the ease and grace and demand of Benny’s love. Irresistible tug of Benny’s passion. They hadn’t tired of kissing even yet, and maybe they never would for it had only become better and better.

Generous hands working at Ray’s buttons, Ray shifting his arms up to Fraser’s shoulders so the man was free to do as he pleased. Thumbs rubbing teasing at Ray’s nipples before the palms and fingers ran across Ray’s ribs, round to his back, drawing him close again as the kiss deepened.

When Ray’s mouth was freed he groaned, ‘No…’ but even he recognised that his tone and body belied the word.

It was over quickly. They barely even reached Benny’s cot, hardly discarded even one article of clothing. The simplicity of jerking each other off, as potent as ever. And then Fraser on his hands and knees on the narrow bed, cleaning Ray’s spattered groin with the rough of his tongue.

Ray had never done the same for his lover. He watched as Fraser headed for the tiny kitchen and washed himself off with a damp towel, before returning to the bed to hold Ray in his arms.

Their clothing remained disorderly. Good to see the impeccable Mountie all mussed in casual gear and half naked. But Ray was unquiet tonight. He plucked at his shirt-tails and trousers, fingers restless and dissatisfied. Eventually he said, ‘Over seven months together, and I still can’t keep my hands off you.’

Fraser was looking at him, curious in that bland way of his. ‘Why does that make you sad?’

‘Sad? Sad because –’ Ray sighed. Surely the Mountie knew this already. ‘Because all our time is your work and my work and our cases, or my family and my car, or your wolf and your neighbours. And that’s all fine. But as soon as we get five minutes alone, we can’t keep our hands off each other.’ Ray turned his head to face Fraser. ‘Don’t get me wrong – the sex is great. I love it, I love kissing you, I love touching you. But I need more than that.’

‘I see.’

Ray abruptly broke into a wide grin, though he couldn’t really feel the humour of it. ‘God, I never thought I’d hear myself say that. _I need more than all this hot sex_,’ he repeated disparagingly.

‘Of course you do, Ray.’

‘We don’t do much together just for us, you know? We don’t share – oh, all the little things. I want –’ And this was scary, so Ray just said it before even figuring what it was. ‘I thought the idea was for you to move home with me, live with me. Sleep all night with me, eat breakfast at the same table. Hell, we could get naked, and have sex, and I wouldn’t need to get dressed again and drive home alone.’

‘Yes,’ was all the Mountie said.

Long moments meeting each other’s gaze. What on earth went on behind those beautiful eyes of Fraser’s? Sometimes they would catch the light, the blue of them glinting – occasionally with a crafty humour – often, like now, the glint seeming to shut Ray out, like a steel door sliding down. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Benny,’ Ray muttered.

‘Like what, Ray?’

Perhaps Fraser really wanted to know, but Ray said, ‘What _I_ want to know is, why haven’t you come to live at home with me?’

Fraser actually seemed a little taken aback, as if he hadn’t considered this. His focus became internal for a moment, and then returned to Ray. However, ‘I don’t know,’ was his only reply.

‘Yeah, well,’ Ray said sourly, beginning to pick himself up off the bed, ‘if you figure it out, let me know.’

Fraser stood, too, quickly rearranging his clothing. Offering like a perfect host, ‘Would you like a cup of coffee? We could –’ A pause, glancing aside for inspiration and then looking back at Ray. ‘We could take the coffee up onto the roof, and look at the stars. Actually, the city lights are quite pretty, too, I’ve discovered. Diefenbaker and I sometimes go up there to get some air.’

Ray just stared at the man. ‘I hate myself,’ he declared. ‘You’re so damned perfect it’s ridiculous.’

‘I don’t follow you.’ Honest confusion.

‘If I tell you off or complain about you, at least have the grace to sulk for a while, and resent me. There’s no call for you to be making an effort right away like that. It just makes me look even worse.’

Fraser staring at him, frowning. About to speak –

‘Oh, don’t. I’m being completely unreasonable, I’m in no mood to be good company.’

The Mountie said quietly, ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ray.’

‘Yeah.’ He jammed his fists in his trouser pockets.

Which was when the wolf came home through the window from the fire escape. Diefenbaker trotted up to Fraser, who crouched to welcome him, scratch behind the wolf’s ears. Man’s best friend.

‘I’m going home, Benny.’

Fraser looked up, met the cop’s reluctant gaze. ‘Good night, Ray. Will I see you tomorrow?’

‘I guess. Call me.’ Ray shrugged. ‘It’s Sunday. Come to Mass with me.’

‘I’d love to, Ray, but I promised Mrs Gamez I’d escort her and her children to the local service.’

Ray sighed. He supposed he could simply ask to come here, and join Fraser and the Gamez family at their parish church, but Ray found he couldn’t be bothered. ‘Call me,’ he said, and he walked out, lifting a hand in desultory farewell.

♦

_the rich declare themselves poor_  
and most of us are not sure  
if we have too much  
but we’ll take our chances  
cause God’s stopped keeping score  
I guess somewhere along the way  
he must have let us all out to play  
turned his back  
and all God’s children crept out the back door

♦

Apartment 3J. Francesca stood outside the door for a moment, remembering, reliving – but that was all so many heart-aching dreams ago. She sighed, and shook her head at the foolishness, and knocked.

Fraser opened the door wide in reply. His first reaction was surprise, and his second was profound wariness.

‘Hi, Benton,’ Francesca said brightly.

‘Good afternoon, Francesca. Er –’ He gestured helplessly into his apartment. ‘If you’re looking for Ray, he isn’t here. In fact, I haven’t seen him since he brought me home last night.’

‘No, I wanted you.’

The wariness grew. Perhaps they were both remembering the last time she came here alone.

Francesca smiled. ‘Don’t be afraid.’

Terror. It was a wonder he didn’t slam the door and run away.

She laughed. ‘I’m sorry. No, really.’ God, it was funny. Unfair of her to laugh, but it was hilarious that this big strong Mountie was terrified of her. ‘I said that last time, didn’t I? I’m really sorry, Benton. I didn’t mean to do that.’

A nod, accepting this.

Sobering, Francesca considered the man. Her brother’s lover. _God, he’s gorgeous_, something wayward in her said. But not only gorgeous – he was decent and kind, and didn’t deserve to be treated so badly. ‘I’m sorry, Benton,’ she repeated sincerely. ‘I really gave you hell back then, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have done that, I shouldn’t have behaved the way I did. Can we be friends now?’

‘Of course we can,’ he said. Unsure, he glanced about him, then offered his right hand. They shook on it, this truce between them. Then Fraser asked, ‘How may I help you today, Francesca?’

Wicked. The wicked part of her wanted to suggest something outrageous. But she quelled it, for the sake of fairness and friendship. ‘Can I come in?’ And when he let her by, she began to talk about her plans. ‘I don’t think I’ve told you about this, but I work on projects for low cost housing in my own time. You know, trying to bring property developers and charities and rich philanthropists together to develop a tenement, and then rent it out at minimal rates. There’s no state funding to be had, so it’s all about people, do you see, getting people together to help other people have homes.’

‘That’s highly commendable, Francesca.’ He was standing with his rear propped on the windowsill in his kitchen, and she was talking, which involved a fair amount of pacing and gesturing. Diefenbaker was watching them.

‘I have a couple of projects well under way, but they’re basically out of my hands now, and I got to thinking there’s probably properties in this area that could do with improving. Empty places. If we develop them, using donations as far as possible, the owners make a return on them, even on minimum rent, that they never would have made if the buildings were left abandoned.’

He was thinking about it. Unlike some people, he felt no need to signal that, or to fill the silence with noise. Finally Fraser said, ‘Two properties occur to me. I’ll take you to see them, if you would like a walk.’

‘Sure,’ she said with a bright smile.

‘Would you mind if I finished pressing my dress coat first? I don’t like to leave it half done, and I’m on guard duty first thing in the morning.’

‘Sure,’ she repeated. ‘I bet that gives you a reason to get out of bed on a Monday.’

‘Yes, it does,’ he replied very seriously, giving her a nod of gratitude, and heading for the ironing board set up in the far corner.

Tempting. Francesca could be really cheeky and go sit on his bed, nearby where he was carefully and quickly working over his red coat. But he was being very nice to her. Perhaps they really could be friends. She sat quietly on a chair at his tiny table, and watched him. Benton Fraser looked really quite delicious in a pair of jeans. Francesca bit her lip. ‘I’ll tell you what my dream project is,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ he said with all his quiet genuine openness, ‘please do.’

And she started rambling, staying in the chair for most of it, talking about her idea for an apartment building that would have larger condominiums on the top floors attracting trendy yuppies who’d like to live close to the city. Smaller low cost apartments on the lower floors would be available to people on welfare – eligibility for those places would be through whatever criteria would salve the yuppie’s consciences, while creating some feeling of safety for all. The rich in effect would be subsidising housing for the poor, the mix of people bringing services to areas that couldn’t otherwise afford them. A place of beauty for all, gentrifying the inner city without displacing anybody.

When Francesca wound to a halt, she found Fraser had finished with the uniform – it was hanging neatly, the iron and the board had been put away, and Fraser was standing there with his arms crossed but a vaguely enthusiastic expression on his face. He said, ‘I know exactly which of those two properties would fit your dream.’

‘Really?’ She smiled at him. It felt good. ‘Then let’s go!’

The place was only three blocks away, and he was right – it was perfect. An old factory on a corner block, with gothic facades facing the two streets. It stood empty, parts of it hollow, though the floors appeared straight and stable. OK, so it would cost money to make the interior into apartments, but there would be money this time because some of the future inhabitants would be well off. The gothic facades would look beautiful, and if they mixed in some industrial girders and bold colours, and left it all not quite finished, the building would be trendily postmodern.

‘This is great,’ Francesca said.

Fraser nodded. ‘There’s a vacant lot next door. Perhaps you could create a garden there, a park for these people and their neighbours.’

‘God, that’s wonderful.’ She wanted to give him a hug out of sheer exuberance, but she didn’t want to frighten him away again. Instead she settled for looking him square in the eyes and saying, ‘Thanks, Benton.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Fraser said, not avoiding her gaze. He seemed to be pleased. He was certainly friendly. Not to mention gorgeous.

Life was good.

♦

_and it’s hard to love_  
there’s so much to hate  
hanging on to hope  
when there is no hope to speak of  
and the wounded skies above  
say it’s much too much too late  
well maybe we should all be praying for time

♦

‘This is a very impressive presentation, young lady. And an inspiring project.’ Nathan Kennedy laughed. ‘Yuppies and the under-privileged – that’s magnificent.’

‘Thank you kindly, Mr Kennedy,’ Francesca said with her most winning smile. The two of them were alone in his office which, though large, was full of old leather furniture, all browns and reds and greens. ‘Do you know,’ she commented, ‘I like how you have your office, it feels comfortable. Most places these days are all sleek and black and minimalist. Very cold.’

‘My Dad had it like that,’ he replied. And he added with a little laugh, as if he’d said this a million times, ‘He was no relation, either.’

Francesca’s smile quirked. ‘Just as well, really. They’re rich and famous and handsome, but the men in that family meet violent ends.’

‘Yes. Now, with my father it was an old-fashioned heart attack at fifty. I inherited the business and… Well, we have very different approaches to things. He’s probably spinning in his grave.’ Kennedy indicated the plans and pictures that were spread over his desk between them. ‘Though maybe even he would be impressed with you.’

‘Thank you. I have a good team of friends who donate their time for these projects. David, the architect who drew these plans up for me, he’s won awards for his designs. I guess success hasn’t gone to his head yet. Though, frankly, I reckon he should win another award for this.’

Casting a glance over the key concept picture, Francesca felt proud. In colour, this was an impression of how the building might look once completed. The place was incredible on paper, with David’s neat signature at the bottom, and a hundred new ideas scattered throughout – even more incredible than it had been in her imagination on that day four weeks ago when she’d asked Fraser for help. Benton’s park was painted full of mature trees and happy children.

Francesca said, ‘A friend of my brother’s had the idea to develop the lot next door, to bring a piece of nature into the city, to really help build a sense of community.’

‘It’s a good idea, Miss Vecchio.’

‘Please call me Francesca.’

‘If you call me Nathan.’

Smiling at him, she leaned closer. ‘See those plaques?’ She indicated a drift of bronze plates by the main doors. ‘Each will bear the name of a person who’s helped make this dream of mine come true. A lasting gesture of gratitude from the people. Or, if you want to look at it that way, good public relations.’ She met his gaze. ‘Can I write your name on one, Nathan?’

A pause. Francesca carefully let the silence be, and let the eye contact go when Nathan Kennedy looked down at the picture lying between them. At last the man said, ‘I suppose I should write your name on a cheque first, Francesca.’

She beamed. ‘No, this is fun. Which one do you want?’ And she hopped up, walked round to his side of the desk, and carefully lettered his name in one of the tiny blank squares. About half of them were full already. ‘Thank you very much, Nathan.’

The man was already slipping a cheque book out of a desk drawer, picking up a chubby gold fountain pen.

‘Here’s my card,’ Francesca said, belatedly placing it on the table by his hand. ‘If you make the cheque payable to Homes Unlimited – that’s a registered charity, so feel free to check us out, whatever makes you comfortable.’

‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’

Francesca’s eyes widened at all the zeroes, and the number that preceded them. ‘I’ll send you regular newsletters, just brief items, on how we’re progressing, and I hope you’ll come to the launch. It’s good to get people involved.’ The man was smiling up at her. ‘You know,’ she said, returning to her seat, and beginning to pack up the plans, ‘and I’m not just saying this, Nathan – you seem to really care about what we’re doing with this project.’

‘This dream of yours? Yes, I do care. It’s remarkable what you’re doing, and sitting here writing a cheque is nothing compared to it. All your enthusiasm, Miss Vecchio. And professional, you’re very professional. The last time someone came to me asking for help in developing low cost housing, I never heard from him again. And you’re going to be sending me newsletters – I like that. I have no idea whether I really helped or not with this other project.’

‘Who was it?’

‘I don’t remember his name, though it was only a few months ago. I could look it up for you, if you like. The property was on West Racine.’

‘Really? I have a friend who lives there, my brother’s friend, the one who had the idea of the park.’ She frowned. ‘I can’t think of where your property is, though, I haven’t noticed any developments along there. Would you like me to check on it for you? Perhaps I can help, if they’ve hit a difficulty or two. Sometimes it’s hard, getting that many different people working together.’

‘I’d appreciate that. I’ll call you with the man’s name.’ He hesitated. ‘The newsletters – do you mail them? I mean, perhaps you could drop mine off here instead. In person. We could have lunch, and you could tell me all about your projects. Your dreams.’

Silence. She almost asked, _You mean like a date?_ but that would sound so insecure. And pushy. Maybe even unethical, and she wanted to live up to that professional image he had of her. Though he also liked her enthusiasm… ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Me, too.’ Nathan smiled. He was handsome, now she really looked at him. Greying hair at his temples, though he couldn’t have been more than thirty-five. A pleasant and open face.

‘Sure,’ Francesca said again, softly. Returning his lovely smile.

♦

_these are the days of the empty hand_  
oh you hold on to what you can  
and charity  
is a coat you wear twice a year

_this is the year of the guilty man_  
your television takes a stand  
and you find  
that what was over there is over here

♦

She should never have mentioned it to Ray. As soon as her brother the cop heard that Francesca was on the trail of a questionable property developer, he considered the matter to be his case. ‘I’m just a bit suspicious,’ she had pleaded. ‘Not even that – I’m curious. I’ve never heard of this guy before, and Nathan Kennedy gave him a lot of money. You could call it professional interest on my part.’

‘You’re out of your league,’ Ray had replied. ‘Worst case scenario – if this one guy has taken this other guy’s money in some scam, then he ain’t the kind of person you can safely take a professional interest in.’ They were still arguing about it two days later, standing on the sidewalk across the road from an old office building. ‘You’re out of your league,’ Ray said for the hundredth time. ‘Tell her, Benny.’

‘He does have a point,’ the Mountie said with some sympathy. ‘This could become dangerous.’

‘I’m coming in with you, like it or not,’ Francesca insisted. ‘And I guess you two big burly men can protect me if it comes to that.’

Ray shrugged, and gave in gracelessly. ‘There’s no arguing with the woman,’ he muttered, walking off across the road.

The office building appeared to be only half occupied. Nathan had called Francesca with a name and a phone number – she could find no one who knew the former, and the latter had been disconnected. Ray, however, had tracked down this address, no doubt using the efficient Elaine.

Francesca followed the cop and the Mountie up the steps and into the foyer, and cast a speculative gaze around. This place could really come alive if the right motivations could be found.

‘Last chance, Francesca,’ Ray said. ‘You could keep Diefenbaker company in the Riv.’

‘Forget it.’ And she led the way up the stairs.

The office they arrived at seemed to be deserted, as did most of the offices on the floor. A cheap plaque on the door announced John Talbot’s name. ‘This is the one,’ Ray said.

Francesca muttered, ‘You have such a masterful grasp of the obvious.’

He glowered at her, tried the door handle. Didn’t bother mentioning that it was locked. He knocked and listened. Then, with a glance at the Mountie, Ray Vecchio kicked the door open, the lock splintering away from the door jamb.

‘Was that legal?’ Francesca asked.

‘No,’ Fraser informed her.

‘Oh,’ she said, and she followed Ray inside.

Illegal or not, the cop and the Mountie were soon searching the place, professional and thorough. There was some rickety old office furniture there, and some scattered paperwork, but none of it looked very important. In fact, the place appeared to have been abandoned, and surely this Talbot guy wouldn’t have left anything behind that would incriminate him. Francesca poked around in the outer reception area, while the two boys headed into the inner office that opened out to the right of the front door. They were rummaging around and, from the sound of it, not very neatly.

Nothing. Francesca headed over to the window and looked out. It was an interesting cityscape. This building might really have possibilities. Perhaps a combination of welfare agencies, a small business support group, and professional offices, with a cheap grocery and diner on the first floor…

A man was standing in the street glaring up at Francesca standing in the third storey window. Long black hair, a broad Inuit face that might have been attractive without the hostility.

He began running, disappeared around the corner of the building. Francesca’s instinct was to worry. _Why?_ she asked herself. _Because he might be coming up here._ ‘Ray,’ she called.

No response. The boys were being far too noisy, and her voice was annoyingly stricken by fear.

‘Ray!’

Running feet. The Inuit slammed to a halt just inside the doorway. ‘Where is he?’ the man demanded of Francesca. ‘Where is he!’

‘Who?’ she asked.

But he’d sensed movement in the office, and was heading that way. ‘John Taylor,’ he answered her anyway, voice harsh with anger.

The cop and the Mountie appeared, Ray in an Armani suit and the latter in his brown uniform. The Inuit began backing away, aghast.

‘Who’s John Taylor?’ Ray asked.

But the man was panicked. He turned, and would have run if Francesca hadn’t managed to slip behind him – she resolutely stood her ground, hands gripping either side of the doorway. He hesitated just long enough for Fraser to get in the way as well. The Mountie held up a hand and said, ‘You have nothing to fear from us.’

‘Yeah, right,’ the man said, disgusted. Defeated and resenting it. He was only young, but so bitter.

‘We’re looking for a man we know of as John Talbot,’ Fraser said. ‘Do you know him? Could Taylor or Talbot be an alias for the same man?’

The Inuit looked sullen, and didn’t respond.

Fraser considered the man. ‘Have you committed a crime?’

A pause. ‘No. But you wouldn’t see it that way.’

‘Perhaps that is not the correct conclusion to draw. We suspect John Talbot might have committed fraud on a large scale. It would be in our interests to deal with you kindly, if you could help us with him.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Francesca just stayed where she was, waiting. Funnily enough, Ray did, too. Was it possible that, at work, her brother could stand back and let someone else do the running?

‘Perhaps,’ continued the Mountie, ‘we can help you in return.’

‘I don’t need your help.’

‘You’re obviously angry about something. And you seem to have suffered from ill health recently. Whatever you’ve done, perhaps you are more sinned against than sinning. Is there any way we can help you?’

‘No.’ The tone wasn’t as defiant, though the man was more neutral than interested.

‘Ray, will you give this gentleman one of your cards in case he changes his mind?’

‘Sure,’ Ray said, pulling one out. He made a great show of writing on the back of it. ‘I’m going to have a new set made up. On the front – see? – that’s me, Detective Ray Vecchio. On the back, that’s the guy you want to talk to. Constable Benton Fraser, Good Samaritan extraordinaire.’

The Inuit took the card, tucked it away in an inside pocket. He nodded once, and then Francesca stood aside and let him slip away.

They all watched after him, and then Francesca looked to the men.

‘What the hell was that about?’ Ray finally asked.

‘I don’t know, Ray, but something is going on,’ the Mountie replied.

‘I bet he’s here illegally. That’s why he didn’t want to deal with us.’

‘Yes. He seems malnourished. He has a hard life here.’ Fraser, however, seemed to put this problem aside, for now at least. ‘Did you find anything of interest in here, Francesca?’

‘No.’

‘I haven’t found anything either. I’d appreciate an extra hour or two for a more thorough examination, though if there’s been nothing yet, I doubt –’

Ray did a double take. ‘Fraser, you shock me! What happened to that famous dogged persistence? What happened to that infinite patience?’

‘If you’re open enough to see what you’re looking for, it will be right under your nose,’ the Mountie said.

‘The problem is,’ Francesca commented, ‘Ray’s nose casts such an enormous shadow. It takes him a while to find things.’

‘Huh,’ was her brother’s only comment.

Francesca figured that someday Ray would finally feel able to retort to any disparaging comparisons by pointing out which sibling had won the Mountie. For now, however, Ray was still too much the gentleman, noble in victory. Francesca smiled and asked him, ‘Can I borrow your phone?’

He handed her his cell, and the two men returned to their search – instinctual on Ray’s part, and systematic on Fraser’s.

Within fifteen minutes, Francesca headed for the inner office and proudly announced, ‘I have a cell phone number for John Taylor, and the name of a building materials supplier who’s dealt with him.’

Ray gaped. Fraser said, ‘Well done, Francesca. How did you find the information?’

‘My network.’

‘Network?’ he asked blankly. ‘You have a computer network?’

‘No, no. My contacts, the people I deal with all the time, on work or my projects. One of them talked to Taylor a while ago, apparently Taylor or Talbot or whoever was fishing for information.’

Fraser seemed impressed. Francesca beamed at him. Ray said, rather severely, ‘Don’t you dare call him – if he gets suspicious, he’ll be out of here and we’ll never catch up. Give me the number, and I’ll get an address through the phone company.’

‘Good idea, 86,’ Francesca said brightly, having honestly not thought of that next step.

Ray glared at her dryly. ‘I’m a cop, 99, it’s what I do. Remember? And you’re a real estate agent. Don’t get in too deep here, OK?’

‘You don’t want my expert knowledge and useful connections?’

‘I don’t want you to get hurt, you little idiot.’

She smiled. ‘I love you, too, Raymond.’

‘Huh,’ was his only retort.

♦

_so you scream from behind your door_  
say what’s mine is mine and not yours  
I may have too much  
but I’ll take my chances  
cause God’s stopped keeping score  
and you cling to the things they sold you  
did you cover your eyes when they told you  
that he can’t come back  
cause he has no children to come back for

♦

Fraser walked up the steps and knocked on the Vecchios’ front door. It was a Saturday morning, and he had no real idea why he was here. However, it appeared that Ray knew the reason, for when he opened the door the cop said dryly, ‘What excellent timing.’

‘Good morning, Ray.’ Fraser stepped inside when Ray invited him to do so with a sweeping gesture.

Ray closed the door behind him, and leaned back against it. ‘I almost drove to your place. How did you know to come over?’

‘I felt like a walk, and I ended up here, though I wasn’t sure why. Did you particularly want to see me?’

‘Hell of a long walk,’ Ray commented absently. Then he sighed. ‘Well, the house is empty. Happens so rarely it seems a pity not to take advantage of the situation. Francesca’s off on her crusade to find homes for people, and Ma went down to the markets and then she’s at Maria and Tony’s for lunch. I guess we should go to my room, right? Make use of a bed with a decent mattress and plenty of room to move.’

Fraser stood there considering the man. ‘Do you have plans, Ray? Is there something shocking that you want to do with me?’

Ray shook his head, and led the way upstairs. ‘I thought of something,’ he said sourly, ‘but we can’t do it here, because it involves maple syrup, and I don’t want Ma to have to clean the sheets afterwards.’

‘Maple syrup, Ray?’ Fraser asked.

‘Yeah, and stop trying to sound so innocent.’

‘Well, I am certainly inexperienced when it comes to combining sex and food.’

‘So use your imagination. Haven’t you ever wanted to lick maple syrup off a flapjack?’

Though he was fascinated by all the riches of the image, Fraser let this pass by. When they reached Ray’s bedroom, Fraser didn’t go further than the doorway. ‘Is something wrong, Ray?’

‘No, why should it be?’

‘You seem sad. In fact, you’ve been sad for a while now.’

‘Come on, let’s get on with this. Then you can help me wash the Riviera. It needs a polish, too.’

‘I’d love to perform both activities, Ray, but I am concerned about you.’ Unsure what Ray’s reaction would be, Fraser tentatively said, ‘Francesca told me she’d said a prayer for us at Mass.’

‘Yeah.’ A complete lack of interest. Ray was unbuttoning his own shirt, in a rather desultory manner.

‘My first reaction was to thank her. But then I asked her whether you and I needed a prayer said. She replied that she didn’t know, but you’d been very sad lately.’

‘Well, what does she know?’ Ray asked rhetorically.

‘I believe she knows you quite well, actually. I never had a sister or brother, but I realise what I’ve missed.’ Fraser paused, and returned to the relevant topic. ‘I don’t mean to pry, Ray, but –’

‘But it’s not prying when it’s your lover, OK? It’s showing an interest.’ Complete exasperation. And then a plea that Fraser couldn’t resist: ‘Ah, just come here and make love to me, Benny. Love me. Fuck me. That’s what I need right now.’

‘Yes,’ he said, and Fraser walked over and took Ray Vecchio into his arms. So good holding this lean strong body, loving this beautiful contrary man; so good these rare times when Ray surrendered and let Fraser have him. Something so intense, so primal about this act. Fraser found the masculine animal instinct within him and set it free. And they fucked. …

♦

… Fraser watched with love as Ray tumbled into loud completion. The man kept his eyes open, with an effort shared all his surprise and satisfaction with Fraser.

And Fraser couldn’t help but tumble after him into incredible sensation. He let a cry tear out of his throat so Ray could hear as well as see and feel his pleasure. Closed his own eyes briefly – a field of poppies bright red in a sea of grass, all tousled and blown by a sudden breeze, and then settling. The sunshine was warm and gentle on him. ‘Do you see that?’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ Ray replied. They lay there for a time, hearts and breaths demanding. Eyes quietly communing. And Ray said, ‘I guess even angels don’t get it any better than that.’

‘I’m sure they don’t, Ray.’ Shifting at last, Fraser let Ray stretch out comfortably before taking the man into his arms again. Fraser was sorry to find that the joy had ebbed away again – or perhaps it had only been Fraser feeling joy, and Ray had felt little beyond surrender and satisfaction. ‘Why are you sad?’

‘Lots of reasons,’ Ray said with a touch of petulance.

‘Tell me about one reason.’

‘Oh, leave it be, Fraser. Just leave it all alone.’

Fraser pressed a kiss to Ray’s temple, and sighed. He’d learned a hard lesson while very young, and that was you can’t help a person who doesn’t want to be helped.

‘Come on,’ Ray finally said. ‘I want to wash the Riv.’

‘All right,’ Fraser said, but he kissed the man again before letting him go.

♦

_it’s hard to love_  
there’s so much to hate  
hanging on to hope  
when there is no hope to speak of  
and the wounded skies above  
say it’s much too late  
so maybe we should all be praying for time

♦

Francesca had insisted on meeting them for this interview, and the Mountie was too much the gentleman to proceed without her even though she was running late. ‘Fraser, let’s just get on with it,’ Ray pleaded. He hated waiting around. ‘Maybe she couldn’t get a cab. I’ve got twenty-three real cases sitting on my desk right now, and the Lieutenant is showing signs of becoming active after days of being dormant. You know what happens when he blows…’

‘Streams of molten lava and showers of hot ash?’ Fraser suggested, quickly picking up on the image.

Ray almost smiled. ‘Yeah. Hell, we don’t even know a crime has been committed here. Some guy took some money for a development that hasn’t started yet. It might be fraud, or he might just be having a hard time getting the capital together.’

‘That is correct, Ray, but Francesca is not aware of the man as a legitimate developer, he has apparently abandoned his place of business, and he seems to be known by two different names. I believe further investigation is warranted.’

They were standing on the sidewalk in an industrial area, surrounded by warehouses, having made an appointment to see the building materials supplier that Francesca had identified as having dealt with John Taylor. ‘I hate waiting,’ Ray muttered.

‘Twenty-three outstanding cases,’ Fraser said. ‘I believe you had forty-one when I first arrived.’

Ray said sourly, ‘Yeah, well, I had some help along the way from my Mountie friend.’

‘Your record has been excellent.’

‘I hate myself,’ Ray muttered, for he couldn’t help but smile, just for a moment. ‘It’s been better than Huey and Louie’s arrest record, in ten months out of twelve.’

‘You really should take full credit, Ray. You are a good detective – you care about your cases and the people involved in them, you never give up, and you have instincts finely honed by experience.’

‘Yeah?’ Ray felt pleased by this rare compliment.

‘Oh God,’ said Francesca from behind him. ‘Now I _know_ the Mountie’s in love with you – he thinks you’re a good cop.’

‘What would you know about either?’ Ray snapped.

‘I know that love is blind as well as stupid. Which is just as well, Raymond, because you’re no beauty queen.’

He muttered, ‘Who are you calling a queen?’ A brief silence stretched, and then Ray grimaced over at Fraser. ‘Great. Feel free to leap to my defence and tell her how gorgeous you think I am.’

The Mountie gave a small version of that shrug of his, holding both hands palm out. ‘I didn’t think that was necessary, Ray. It is obvious that I must find you attractive.’

‘You call that a compliment? That’s the most lukewarm praise I’ve ever heard.’ Ray glared around him indiscriminately, then walked off. ‘Come on, we’ve got an investigation to progress.’

The building materials supplier, name of Peter Valeri, remembered one John Taylor very clearly. ‘Yeah, he came here twice,’ Valeri said, addressing the three of them by turn. ‘Tall blond guy, skinny as a copper pipe, dressed like Wall Street. Housing for the homeless he was talking about, though I don’t know that his heart was in the right place.’

‘What do you mean?’ Ray asked.

‘There’s a buck to be made, and no harm in it, but I don’t reckon that’s the best motivation to help people.’ He lifted his eyebrows. ‘Still, any help is good help, isn’t it?’

Francesca opened her mouth. Having told her to maintain a low profile, Ray cut her off – ‘Do you remember if he was working on a particular project?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got paperwork somewhere around here. It was a couple of months ago.’ The man’s voice was muted as he bent over a lower drawer and worked his way through a number of suspension files. ‘There were a couple of projects. One on Twenty-Sixth or Twenty-Seventh, some place around there, and one on Racine.’

‘West Racine?’ Francesca asked.

‘Could be,’ Valeri replied.

Ray glared at his sister in exasperation. ‘That’s leading the witness,’ he informed her.

Valeri had found a couple of invoices or receipts, and was peering at them long-sightedly, shuffling them at arm’s length. ‘Forgot my glasses,’ he complained, ‘but this is it. Because it’s charity, you know, I gave him some supplies at cost, donated the delivery. Lumber, gyprock, nails and glue and general hardware… Quite a quantity, actually,’ Valeri commented pensively. ‘Quite a bit, even for two projects.’

Francesca asked, ‘Had you heard of John Taylor before he placed these orders?’

‘No, Miss Vecchio, I can’t say I had. No address here – just John Taylor, payment in cash.’ He looked up, and Valeri and Francesca stared at each other, apparently both deep in thought.

‘What?’ Ray asked.

‘I hadn’t heard of him, either,’ Francesca told Valeri, ‘and this kind of project, it’s what I love doing. I know just about everyone in town who’s involved, or I know someone who knows everyone else… everyone who’s involved legitimately at least.’

‘Well, that’s a pity, a man like that taking advantage.’

‘_What?_’ Ray asked again.

Francesca turned to him. ‘Don’t you get it? This John Taylor or John Talbot, or whoever the hell he is, is ripping people off every which way. He bought truckloads of supplies from Mr Valeri at cost, using Nathan Kennedy’s money, and then resold it all. Nice way to turn a profit.’

Ray groaned and said, ‘You’re not just leaping to conclusions here, you’re taking a sprint up and doing the high jump.’

‘I know this business, Raymond, and I’m making an educated guess.’

‘Yeah, well, as a detective you make a great real estate agent.’

‘Ray,’ the Mountie said quietly.

Brief pause. OK, so continuing a family argument in front of a witness wasn’t the most professional behaviour. Ray shrugged angrily. ‘It’s still all circumstantial,’ he reminded them. Then, in more compromising tones, he asked, ‘Mr Valeri, do you have any idea how we can contact John Taylor now?’

‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. Haven’t heard from him since.’

‘Thank you very much for your time. If you think of anything else, please call me.’ Ray handed over a card.

Francesca said, ‘I’m sorry you’ve been used like this. I’ll probably be able to send some legitimate business your way, if you like. I’m working on a project of my own right now, a really interesting one, building a more equitable community in the inner city.’

Valeri was considering this, perhaps thinking once bitten twice shy.

Ray sighed and said, ‘Francesca’s heart is in the right place, Mr Valeri. You can trust her. In fact, the only danger is that she’ll restore your faith in the human race.’ He grimaced. ‘I am surrounded by do-gooders.’

Perhaps inevitably, Valeri looked to the Mountie, who said, ‘I can also vouch for Miss Vecchio’s good intentions, and for her energy in carrying those intentions out.’

At last Valeri nodded. ‘Come back sometime, Miss Vecchio, and tell me about your interesting project. Maybe I can help.’

‘Sure,’ she said with that beautiful big smile of hers. The pair exchanged business cards, and Ray led the way outside. Francesca asked, ‘What next?’

Which was when Ray’s cell phone rang. He flipped it open and, not being in the mood to be polite, said, ‘What?’

‘Ah – good afternoon. I need to speak to Detective Vecchio or the Good Samaritan.’ An older woman, pleasant but very sure of herself.

‘You’ve got Vecchio. If I’m not good enough, Fraser is walking right beside me.’

‘I’m sure you’ll do fine, Detective. This is Sister Rachel from the Hope Charity Hospital. I have a young man here, an Eskimo I believe, who refuses to –’

‘Inuit,’ said Ray. Fraser looked across at him, interested.

Brief silence. ‘I beg your pardon. Into what?’ the woman asked, a little impatient.

‘Inuit, they prefer to be known as Inuit. I’m sure the Good Samaritan could tell you a story that illustrates why.’

‘All right, I have an Inuit gentleman here who was brought to outpatients. He refuses to tell us who he is or where he lives, but he had your business card in a pocket. I thought I’d take the liberty of calling you.’

It seemed more than likely that this was the Inuit who’d visited John Talbot’s – or Taylor’s – abandoned office so precipitately. ‘What happened to him?’ Ray asked.

‘He was beaten up badly, and left in an alley. In fact, he was unconscious when he was brought in, which was why we searched him for identification. We’d like to keep him in overnight, though he doesn’t want to stay. Frankly, he could do with a meal or two. Detective –’ She paused delicately. ‘Has this young man committed a crime?’

‘He told us not. We’re actually investigating someone else, and we were hoping this guy would help us.’ By this time, Fraser was in the back seat of the Riviera, Ray in the passenger’s side, and Francesca was driving. ‘Hope Charity Hospital,’ Ray told her, and then he said to Sister Rachel, ‘We’ll be right over to see him. Maybe we can help.’

‘Thank you, Detective.’ The woman hung up.

Ray slid his phone away and announced, ‘Someone beat up that Inuit who was looking for John Taylor.’

‘Is he all right?’ asked Francesca.

‘No, he’s been beaten up,’ Ray said sarcastically. Then he relented – ‘He was unconscious, but he’s awake enough now to be unco‑operative. They want to keep him in overnight, he wants to walk. Maybe we can talk him into staying. Allay his fears, and all that.’

Fraser was looking concerned in that bland way of his. ‘We may only frighten him further, Ray. The wrong approach –’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll behave myself.’

‘Yes, Ray,’ Fraser replied confidently, ‘I know you will, because you are indeed a good law enforcement officer. And,’ he continued, ‘if I didn’t make this clear before, I do believe that you are a very handsome man.’

Francesca managed to muffle her reaction at first, but within moments she was giggling uncontrollably.

‘Oh great,’ Ray muttered. ‘That was great, Benny. You know, there’s only one thing I hate more than not being taken seriously, and that’s being taken seriously.’

Fraser frowned, and offered a confused apology. Some things just went right over the Mountie’s head. Ray waved a dismissive hand at him.

Well, at least Francesca had got her laugh for the day.

♦

The Inuit was sitting up in bed in the middle of a crowded ward. He was pale and glaring, apparently only held back by the drip stuck in his arm. ‘Hello,’ said Ray, walking up to him with Fraser and Francesca following at his shoulders. ‘Something tells me the Windy City is not making you feel very welcome.’

‘They called you,’ the man said, full of disgust.

‘Because they want to help you.’

‘Wondered where your card went. Thought it got taken.’

Ray grinned. ‘Yeah, well, it’s a valuable piece of property. I can see why someone would mug you just to take my business card.’

The glare intensified. ‘What did you come here for?’

‘We want to help you, too. And I figure if you really didn’t want our help, you would have lost the card before now.’

No reply. The arms were folded and the glare was directed elsewhere. Refusing to be dismissed, Fraser stepped forward and asked, ‘Why do you think you were assaulted? Did they rob you?’

‘Don’t have anything worth taking,’ the Inuit said resentfully. ‘Except my clothes, and they didn’t want my clothes, didn’t want anything else.’

‘Was there another reason? What did they want from you?’

‘Nothing. They were just having fun.’

‘That’s a sad thing to happen.’ Fraser looked down at the hat in his hands for a moment. ‘It must be hard living on the streets, being vulnerable to attack like this.’

Silence.

‘Could you identify them?’ Fraser asked.

When the man didn’t reply, Ray said, ‘We do want to help you, you know, whether you decide to help us with John Taylor or not.’

‘Why the hell should I believe that? We’ve had nothing but trouble since we came here. Betrayed by every damned American we ever met.’

‘Then it’s your lucky day, because Fraser here is Canadian.’ This information failed to impress. ‘How are you going to convince him, Benny?’ Ray explained to the Inuit, ‘Anyone else Fraser wants to convince, he illustrates his point with an Inuit story. But I guess you know them all already, right?’

‘Right.’

‘You said _we_,’ Fraser pointed out. ‘Who are you referring to? Is there a group of you? I assume you’re here illegally. That must make things difficult for you all.’ A pause, which the Inuit didn’t fill. ‘Your people must be wondering where you are. You won’t have been able to contact them, and they’ll be worrying. Which is why you don’t want to stay here overnight.’

‘Yeah,’ the man said on a breath. ‘It’s hardest on the children.’

‘Perhaps I could take them a message, even bring a friend or a member of your family back here to visit with you.’ Fraser nodded, satisfied that he would soon have this all sorted out. ‘It would be good for you to stay in the hospital, get some rest and food and shelter for a night.’

The Inuit sighed, let his head fall. ‘All right,’ he said, though his tone was still reluctant.

Ray smiled. ‘Saint Benton scores again.’ It was soon decided. Ray stayed behind with the Inuit while Fraser and Francesca went to collect the man’s wife. Sitting down on a visitor’s chair beside the bed, Ray said, ‘What can I call you?’

‘Wendell.’ The man lay back in the bed, having lost his anger but looking more defeated than relaxed.

‘OK, Wendell. Call me Ray. Now, I have to tell you that America does have its good points despite your recent experiences. Basketball, for instance. I don’t suppose you’ve caught a game yet…’

It was an easy matter to get the Inuit telling him about John Taylor – all Ray had to do was bore Wendell with basketball talk. It took maybe fifteen minutes. Ray had barely hit his stride, and the Inuit was already interrupting him. ‘All right, all right. What do you want to know?’

The reunion between Wendell and his wife Micah was touching. The pair only let each other go when Fraser charmed two hot meals out of the kitchen staff. Wendell and Micah ate like starving people – heads down, swallowing quickly, and filling up too fast.

‘There’s about twenty of them,’ Francesca said to Ray, ‘including three children. They’ve got a one-room apartment and two jobs between them all – a hot dog vendor and a newspaper stand. They’re crammed into that room so tight the men take turns to stay out on the streets overnight. It was Wendell’s turn last night.’

Ray nodded, and filled her and Fraser in on what he’d learned. ‘This John Taylor guy brought them down here, promising them work on his construction site, saying he’d sponsor their citizenship applications. Seems he wanted a big Government contract.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Francesca said. ‘This is beginning to make sense now. The Government only awards contracts to people who employ certain quotas of minority groups. Let me guess,’ she said to Wendell – ‘as soon as Taylor won the contract, he fired you all, and left you stranded.’

‘Yeah, that’s it.’

‘So why haven’t I heard of him?’ she muttered, frowning hard. ‘Taylor can’t be his real name, though I guess I’m mainly connected with the housing side of the business. Where was the construction site? What’s being built there?’

‘An office block.’ Apparently Wendell had further information, though he seemed reluctant to share it. Everyone waited silently – even Francesca knew enough to be quiet rather than persist with her questions and speculations. Eventually Wendell said, ‘I’ve been back there the last few days. His real name’s John-Paul Turner.’

‘Oh.’ Francesca nodded. ‘OK, I’ve heard of him, he’s new to Chicago. Manages projects like small office blocks, and shops, and sports centres, though he obviously runs a few scams on the side.’

‘What were you going to do with that information, Wendell?’ Ray asked flatly. ‘Try to hold it over him? That’s a dangerous game.’

‘Yeah, well, I figured we had to help ourselves on this one.’

‘You leave it be now, do you hear? No more snooping around, and no trying to make deals with the man. We’ll look into Turner, and see what we can do. All right?’

A long moment before the Inuit shrugged. ‘All right.’

Francesca suddenly sat up straighter, and beamed. ‘Oh, this is perfect. You’re willing to work in construction? I’ve got a project going – well, it’s almost ready, I haven’t quite gathered all the capital yet, but I’ve enough to begin with, and maybe Nathan will lend me some more to help us out. I’ll sponsor you, if you’ll come and work for me. Minimum wages, but I’ll make sure you’re all fed, the women and children, too.’

Wendell narrowed his eyes at her, apparently suspicious.

Ray said, ‘I told you this was your lucky day. She might be American, but you can trust her. What do you say?’

‘Let me talk to my people.’

‘Of course,’ Fraser said. ‘Ask them whether they want to stay. If they do, Francesca might help you find your feet. If they want to return home, we’ll approach Immigration on your behalf and negotiate suitable arrangements.’

Wendell and Micah looked at each other for a moment. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right.’ And finally he added, ‘Thank you.’

♦

‘There he is! Aren’t you going to arrest him?’

Fraser, who’d been watching John-Paul Turner walk down the street to talk to another man, turned to find Wendell crouched on the sidewalk by the Riviera. From the driver’s seat Ray demanded, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘That’s John Taylor,’ the Inuit said through the open window. ‘John-Paul Turner, I mean. Don’t you see him?’

‘We see him, Wendell,’ Fraser said patiently. Turner was tall, blond, slim and well-dressed, just as Peter Valeri had described the man. He had a very self-possessed manner, and was perhaps prone to lies and exaggeration.

‘So why are you just sitting here watching him?’

The early evening city streets were busy around them, but not so busy that a green Riviera wasn’t inconspicuous. ‘Oh God,’ Ray said in tones of absolute disgust. ‘Get in the car, will you, before he makes us.’

A rebellious moment from the Inuit, and then Fraser shifted forward enough to let the young man slip into the back seat. ‘Tell me why you’re not arresting him.’

‘I told you to stay out of this, Wendell. You tell me why you’re not working right now. Didn’t Francesca get you all started cleaning that place out?’

‘Yeah,’ the Inuit said, having the grace to sound sheepish. ‘I guess I left a little early today.’

‘Your gratitude is overwhelming,’ Ray commented with great sarcasm.

Fraser said, ‘I know it must be difficult to trust us, but we are doing our best to investigate the man thoroughly.’

‘But why haven’t you arrested him already?’

‘We have enough to arrest Turner,’ Ray informed the young man, ‘but not enough to make it stick. He’d call his lawyer and walk out of the station within hours, and he’d go destroy the evidence. Then he’s free, and there’s nothing we can do.’

‘The only hope we have,’ Fraser continued, ‘is discovering where his paperwork is. Then we can ask for a warrant to seize that at the same time as arresting him. So far, we can only find the office where he carries out his legitimate business. That is why we are following him.’

‘Great,’ Wendell said, nodding. ‘So you still need evidence.’

Ray turned around to glare at the Inuit. ‘Stay out of it.’

‘He’s heading back this way,’ Fraser murmured to his partner.

‘Who’s that man with him?’ Wendell asked. ‘Looks like a bodyguard to me. What legitimate businessman has a big dude like that watching his back all the time?’ While Turner’s companion was dressed in a suit, he wore dark glasses, was armed, and did indeed appear to be a bodyguard.

‘Perhaps,’ Ray said with strained patience, ‘that’s Turner’s personal assistant. You know, _Come sit on my knee and take down this memo_.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Perhaps,’ Ray continued, ‘he likes them butch.’

‘You know what they say,’ Wendell commented. ‘Takes one to know one.’

Ray glanced at Fraser, both exasperated and amused. ‘Absolutely,’ Ray said. ‘I love them butch. Now sit back there and be quiet. Once Turner heads out for dinner, which he usually does around now, I’m taking you back to your apartment. And if you take advantage of Francesca’s generosity again, and skip out on the work she’s given you, I’m just letting the whole mess go, all right? There’s plenty of other cases I could be working on right now, and I don’t need all that aggravation from Immigration.’

‘All right,’ the Inuit sullenly agreed.

Turner and his companion climbed into his car and drove off. Ray pulled away after them, smooth and precise in handling the Riviera, staying two or three car lengths behind the man they were following.

Fraser glanced back at Wendell, feeling Ray had been a little hard on him. ‘Do you miss the Yukon?’ he asked.

‘Sometimes.’ Wendell thought about this, staring out of the side window. ‘Yeah, I do, sometimes.’

‘It is a beautiful place. Harsh and unforgiving. Large beyond one man’s comprehension – the perspective it gives you is daunting. Colder than anyone should be able to bear. Lonely – there are few animals, let alone people. And yet I love the country there. I love the magnificence of the sun on the snow, the grandeur of the mountains, the air so pure you become intoxicated. I love the strength that the country calls forth in you, the strength you need in order to just survive and nothing more. To really live there, you need so much more than strength… The beauty of it –’ Fraser stopped, looked at the two men he was with. ‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘I sound like a travel brochure.’

Wendell said, ‘You sound like a poem.’

Ray was silent, and sad. He was always sad these days, unless distracted by work. Finally he said, ‘I knew you loved it up there. I knew that.’

‘Yes,’ Fraser agreed. No more was said. They watched Turner head into a restaurant and greet some other people, and then Ray turned the Riviera around to take Wendell home.

♦

A Vecchio family dinner, just the four of them that evening. Ma headed off to watch television afterwards, while Ray and Fraser washed up, and Francesca made a round of coffee. They were all quiet and thoughtful. Fraser was pondering his lover’s state of mind, and whether there was anything he could or should do to alleviate it. He had little experience to draw on in this kind of matter, and no one he could turn to for advice.

There was a knock at the back door, and a young woman walked in. ‘Can I come in, Francesca? Hello, Ray.’

‘Sure, Kerrie. I’m just making coffee, would you like a cup?’

‘Yeah, thanks.’ The woman smiled at all of them, obviously uncomfortable. ‘You must be the Mountie,’ she said to Fraser. In a loud aside to Francesca, she added, ‘He’s just as gorgeous as you told me.’

Francesca rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘Yeah, isn’t he?’ she agreed easily. ‘But that’s ancient history.’

Fraser frowned and concentrated on scrubbing out the lasagne tray. He still found it disconcerting, the way women in Chicago were so open about their inclinations, so forward with their desires. Ray was snickering at him, displaying a complete lack of sympathy.

Kerrie was saying, ‘Ancient history, really? It’s been a while since I caught up with any of you.’

‘Benton,’ Francesca said, ‘this is Kerrie Montgomery, who lives in the next street. Kerrie, this is Benton Fraser, otherwise known as the Mountie.’

‘How do you do,’ Fraser said.

‘Hi.’ The woman turned her smile to the cop. ‘And how have you been, Ray?’

‘Fine, Kerrie, just fine.’

‘Um, the reason I came over…’ She interrupted herself to accept a cup of coffee from Francesca. Apparently she was too nervous to sit at the table. A brief pause, while everyone waited for her to continue. ‘I was wondering what you’re doing on Saturday night, Ray. I know it’s short notice, but I’m going to a school reunion party, and I find I’m without an escort.’

Silence. Ray and Fraser and Francesca exchanged glances, either surprised or curious or amused.

Kerrie laughed, discomfort growing as she picked up on the odd atmosphere. ‘It’s been a while since our last date, I know, but I’ve missed you.’

‘You have?’ Ray asked. He was smiling. And Kerrie was rather attractive.

‘We’ve all missed you, actually.’

‘Yeah?’ It seemed that Ray was impressed by this news.

Fraser turned around fully to watch this, crossing his arms and propping his back against the sink.

Francesca was actually looking rather annoyed. She said, ‘He’s been out of circulation for eight months or so, Kerrie, and you finally get around to missing him?’

The poor woman’s face reddened. ‘Eight months?’

‘Yeah. Don’t be fooled by that dopey look on his face. As soon as he thinks about that, he’s going to feel insulted.’

‘I didn’t know he was out of circulation. You mean – I hadn’t heard. Ray, you have a girlfriend now?’

‘Something like that,’ Francesca replied on his behalf. ‘He found someone who doesn’t consider him as scraping the bottom of the barrel for a date.’

Ray was standing there gaping, watching this exchange.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean to –’

‘Yes, you did. You all just passed him around, and used him for dates when you couldn’t find anyone better. Well, this family has found some self-respect at last.’

Kerrie retaliated. ‘Maybe that’s what we did, if you really want to put it into ugly words – but you knew all along, Francesca, and you never stopped us. In fact, you helped.’

‘Yeah, I did, I pushed him the few times he needed it. And actually I don’t even blame you – Ray’s a nice guy, he would have treated you well, would have been a real gentleman when you said _no_. All very convenient and safe. But he’s not available to be used anymore.’

‘Really.’ Kerrie put her cup of coffee down, floundered for something to say, for a way to escape.

‘No, I don’t blame you,’ Francesca was continuing. ‘I understand. Ray even set himself up for it – desperate and optimistic can be a deadly combination, and I should know. Though it’s unfair to use that against him. Which one of you was going to draw the short straw and marry him, rather than be left on the shelf?’

A pause. Fraser took advantage of it and said quietly, ‘Kerrie, I’m sorry. It’s been a rather trying day.’ He walked over to hold the back door open for her. ‘Do you need company on the way home?’

‘No. No, that’s all right,’ she said shakily.

‘Perhaps we’ll meet again under better circumstances.’

‘Yes.’ And she was gone.

Fraser closed the door and headed back inside. Ray and Francesca were staring at each other, shocked and angry in equal measure. Fraser walked over to Ray and took the man into his arms. ‘I don’t mind very much,’ Fraser said to Francesca over Ray’s shoulder, ‘that you hurt that young woman’s feelings. But I do mind about you hurting Ray. He lets enough people humiliate him already.’

‘He knew all of that,’ Francesca blurted out defensively, ‘he knew they used him, it wasn’t news. I was defending Ray, I was finally telling her and all her friends where they could get off.’

Ray said weakly, ‘I could have told her.’

‘No, you couldn’t,’ Francesca retorted. ‘All she had to say was that she missed you, and you were marshmallow.’

‘I would have told her, Francesca. What, you think I would have said _yes_? I just wouldn’t have been as blunt about it. And, Fraser, there’s no need for you to be fighting my battles for me either.’

‘No, there isn’t,’ Fraser agreed softly. He was pleased when Ray let himself relax into the embrace, for the cop had indeed found that scene painful, and it wasn’t often that Ray accepted comfort for such a thing. Fraser gave himself to holding the man for a long moment.

Ray pulled away, then, and faced his sister. She was biting her lip – that was no doubt the first time she’d seen the two men touch as anything other than friends. Ray sighed. ‘You know, Francesca, I’m sorry you’ve been hurt. But I’m not sorry that Fraser loves me. One day, you and I are just going to have to get past this, because I love you, and I don’t want for us to be niggling at each other all the time.’

Francesca nodded. ‘All right. I’m sorry, too,’ she said. A pause while she thought about this. ‘Yeah, I’m sorry for saying those things to Kerrie – I was aiming that at you, too. I’m sorry I let them treat you that way. And I’m sorry I’ve been bitching at you. But it’s OK, you can start bitching back, because I’m pretty much over it now.’ She took a breath. ‘All right?’

‘Come here.’ She stood, and they approached each other, and Ray hugged her. He was smiling happily, and actually shared that for a moment with Fraser. At last he murmured in Francesca’s ear, ‘You want to know a secret? They didn’t always say _no_. And I wasn’t always the perfect gentleman.’

A moment of silence, and then Francesca laughed. Her brother laughed, too, and picked her up to swing her round. Francesca declared, ‘But you were always a nice guy, Ray Vecchio.’

‘Of course,’ Ray said. ‘Just don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.’ When he put her down, Francesca skipped out of the room. Fraser gathered the man up and stole a kiss from him – the sweetest, lightest, happiest kiss they’d shared in weeks. Very pleasant.

Footsteps. Fraser let Ray go, and turned back to the lasagne tray just as Mrs Vecchio appeared. ‘What are you kids being so noisy about?’ she asked. Luckily she didn’t appear to expect an answer. ‘Is this my coffee?’

Ray smiled at her. ‘I’ll pour you a fresh cup, Ma.’

♦

Another couple of days, and they were no closer to discovering where John-Paul Turner ran his scams from, or where the evidence was. Ray was becoming rather tired of all this waiting around, following the man and his butch bodyguard from the legitimate offices to business meetings and restaurants and then home. ‘Is this really worth it?’ Ray finally asked the Mountie who sat by his side in the Riviera. ‘Turner’s running a medium-sized business within the law, he must make enough out of that to be comfortable, though he’s not so big that people notice him much. I bet defrauding Kennedy and Valeri was just a game to him. I mean, I have a murder case on my desk I should be concentrating on, and the Lieutenant’s talking about seeing a return for my time and effort.’

‘We have already made significant progress on the murder case,’ Fraser reminded him.

‘So I’m bored with Turner, I admit it. Sue me.’

‘Perhaps I would be bored, too, if Mr Turner hadn’t relocated and then abandoned twenty-one Inuit men, women and children.’

‘Yeah, all right.’ Ray sighed, looked at his watch – it was six o’clock, and only five minutes after the last time he’d looked at it. ‘Well, I don’t have any plans this evening. Why don’t we stick with Turner for the night, at least until we’re sure he’s safely tucked up in bed, with or without his personal assistant?’

‘Yes.’

The cop and the Mountie subsided into silence again. As usual, Turner and the bodyguard drove to a local restaurant at seven o’clock, and settled in for a solid meal. Ray spied a diner across the road. ‘Let’s grab something to eat,’ he suggested. ‘If we take a seat along the window, we’ll be able to keep an eye on them.’

Fraser agreed to this plan, and was soon sitting opposite Ray in one of the front booths. After all this time, the Mountie didn’t seem to quite fit comfortably in a Chicago diner. It was something about how he puzzled over the menu, or quite innocently charmed the waiter, or felt too warm in the enclosed conditioned room.

‘You know,’ Ray said quietly, ‘you really did sound like a poem the other night, when you were talking about the Yukon. You miss it, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Ray. It is not an easy place to leave behind.’

‘I know you’re going to go back there.’

Fraser frowned at him. ‘I have no immediate plans.’

Ray grimaced and looked somewhere else, because this hurt. ‘You’ll want to go home, as soon as you can. They’ll ask you to go back, and be a real Mountie again, and you’ll be gone by the next day.’

‘I don’t think so, Ray.’

‘What?’ he said sourly, rubbing his hands on his trousers because they were suddenly sweaty. ‘Of course you will.’

Fraser was considering him with as much puzzlement as he devoted to the city’s menus. ‘I believe the RCMP will find it convenient to forget about me, Ray, for at least a few years. And, by then, they will have honestly forgotten about me. I am useful as a liaison officer here in Chicago, and I believe that is where I will remain.’

‘No, you’re too good at what you do. OK, so you made a few people unhappy, but they’ll want you back. You’re wasted here.’

Another long moment. ‘It’s kind of you to think so, Ray. However, as they told me, I turned in one of my own. I feel perfectly justified in having done so, but it does mean that people will feel uncomfortable working with me. I’ve always found, though I think it’s sad, that the equivalent of your Internal Affairs is always the most disliked unit in a police force.’

‘Yes, they are.’

‘Many of my colleagues already felt uncomfortable working with me, in any case, and –’

‘They did? Why?’

‘My last Sergeant once explained it to me. He said they viewed me as an anachronism, they didn’t know what to do with me. I often worked alone.’

Ray stared at the man, who must have long ago wished the RCMP was more welcoming, and almost as long ago resigned himself to being regarded as an oddity. Even in Canada, this beautiful man was an oddity. ‘You just made them look second rate,’ Ray told him. ‘You’re the quintessential Mountie, you’re the best police officer I’ve ever met, you solve every case you touch, and they all looked bad by comparison.’

‘Well, I thank you kindly for the compliment, Ray, but that would be the least generous interpretation of their motives.’ Fraser paused for a moment, and deliberately sought Ray’s gaze. ‘Whatever the reason, you have been the exception to this rule, and I value our partnership dearly.’

Ray couldn’t help but smile a little in response to that.

Fraser took a breath in that way of his, and moved on. ‘There is another factor. I tried to stop a dam being built, a dam that brought a great deal of business to the local community, and they did not appreciate my interference. So, for various reasons, I do not believe I will be returning to Canada or the Yukon, at least not in the foreseeable future.’

Ray shook his head. ‘You’ll go back.’ He felt deflated again, after the brief but spirited defence of his lover against all the petty forces of the RCMP. ‘You love it there, and you’ll go back.’

Fraser was watching him. Their meals had arrived, and both began eating, though the Mountie ate slowly. At last he asked, as if he genuinely wanted to know, ‘Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that I’ll stay?’

‘Because –’ Ray waved his knife in the air. Surely this was obvious. ‘Because there’s something in you that doesn’t belong in Chicago.’ And then he blurted out, though the pain of it almost winded him, ‘Just like something in me could never belong in the Yukon.’

‘Oh,’ Fraser said. And they lapsed once more into silence. Something perverse in Ray made him feel like he wanted to cry.

It was a relief when Turner left the restaurant across the street, and Ray and Fraser could leave the diner behind. Their persistence soon paid off – although it was now well after nine o’clock, Turner did not go home. Instead he headed for an old warehouse in a night-quiet street, not too far from where Peter Valeri ran his business.

‘This could be it,’ Ray said. Rather than approach too closely in the Riviera, he killed the lights, turned off the engine, and glided in to park in shadows. ‘Hell, this is probably it. Process of elimination – it couldn’t be any place else we’ve seen him go.’

‘That is true.’

‘Maybe we should go in and have a quick look around at some stage, just to make sure.’

The Mountie didn’t argue, and the cop regretted that once he’d thought about it. Fraser had certainly had an effect on Ray, in that Benton Fraser gave Ray Vecchio a reason to really try to be the best police officer – the best person he could possibly be. But it seemed that over the months the dirt of Chicago had rubbed off on the Mountie, and he had begun cutting corners he never would have cut back in Canada.

Ray sighed, and let an hour slip by. Turner was still inside, a couple of windows showed strips of light through their blinds, and there was a sense of movement. ‘Let’s give it up for tonight,’ Ray suggested. ‘I’m not in the mood to wait this guy out, and then sneak around. I don’t have the energy. We could come back tomorrow night, and see what we see. Tomorrow’s Saturday night, right? Maybe he won’t be here. Whole place will be quiet.’

‘I believe your mother is expecting us both for dinner,’ Fraser said, ‘but we could come out here afterwards, if you won’t be too tired.’

‘Sounds like a plan to me.’ And Ray drove quietly off, not hitting the lights until they were a block away from Turner’s warehouse.

♦

Nothing had changed. It must have been six weeks ago Ray had sat here on a Saturday night, surrounded by his family, with Fraser sitting silently beside him, and Ray had been thinking then – as he did now – that the Mountie would never truly belong here.

Maria and Tony were arguing again, like any traditional Italian couple. Francesca was flirting with Fraser, while they talked for the hundredth time about her project and his park. Ma Vecchio was negotiating with her grandchildren about the consumption of vegetables relative to the indulgence of dessert. In all the noise, Ray was for once the quietest of the lot.

He listened dully to Fraser and his sister. Apparently they had recently found a garden centre that would donate fifteen developed trees which, added to the turf and shrubs and topsoil they’d already been promised by other places, completed the necessary fixings for the park.

‘Tomorrow?’ Francesca asked the Mountie. She caught Ray’s attention because she suddenly came very near to blushing.

‘Is that inconvenient?’ Fraser responded. ‘I’d like to be helping you more, but I’m finding it difficult to give you any time during the week.’

‘Well, it’s just that I’m meeting Nathan for lunch. Nathan Kennedy.’

‘That will be very pleasant for you.’

Francesca seemed to think so, too. She stared down at her plate, then glanced wide-eyed at her brother.

‘Are you dating him?’ Ray asked, his initial smile quickly becoming a smirk.

‘I don’t know.’

‘But you hope so,’ he guessed.

She shrugged, returned his smile. ‘Yeah. Yes, I hope so.’

‘Good.’ Ray nodded, sat up a little straighter. It wasn’t that he’d been worrying about Francesca, not consciously, but this did seem to bode well for his sister’s happiness. ‘Good,’ Ray repeated.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘perhaps if you two are going to be at the site, we could meet you there after lunch. Nathan hasn’t seen the place yet. And I guess it would be good for him to meet you, if you behave yourself, Raymond.’

Fraser said, ‘I’ll look forward to it. He seems to be a generous man.’

‘Yeah, that would be great,’ Ray added.

Ma Vecchio of course expressed an urgent interest in Kennedy, and Francesca happily began filling her mother in. Fraser’s attention seemed to become more general again, alert to what everyone at the table was talking and arguing and declaiming about.

Ray sat back, feeling a little happier on Francesca’s behalf. He had finished his meal, and was vaguely considering beginning to clear the empty plates and discarded paraphernalia. The hubbub continued as Tony and one of the kids commenced a battle of wills over whether an upcoming birthday would result in a mountain bike.

Fraser placed his cutlery neatly on his plate, having finished a second helping, and pushed his chair back a little.

And Ray’s heart almost stopped as the Mountie took the cop’s closest hand and held it in both of his – first bringing their clasped hands to Fraser’s chest for a moment, and then letting them drop to Fraser’s thigh.

Other than that brief hug in the kitchen after the Kerrie Montgomery fiasco, he and Fraser had never done anything like this at home. At least, not unless they were alone. Even though their hands were now mostly hidden by the table, it slowly became obvious to everyone. Ray knew he was betraying his own confusion and discomfort, and his family – damn them all – were picking up on that.

As for Fraser, he just sat there, a bland but content expression on his face. Conscious, but not embarrassed. Not at all defiant – it seemed he expected everyone to just accept this.

Silence gradually fell through the room. Tony was looking aghast. The kids were puzzled, no doubt more by the reactions than the simple fact that Uncle Ray and Uncle Benny were holding hands. Francesca was biting her lip, holding in laughter, as her eyes darted from one family member to another. Ma and Maria both seemed startled, a little unsure, but not nearly as dismayed as Tony.

‘Well,’ said Francesca, ‘I guess we can’t keep pretending these two are nothing more than friends.’

Tony said faintly, ‘As long as they don’t start cuddling or anything.’ He paled further. ‘Or kissing.’

‘God, why not?’ Ray grumbled, ‘I’ve had to see you kissing poor Maria often enough. That’s what I call disgusting.’

Francesca giggled, and began tapping her fork against a glass, as people did at big Italian weddings when they wanted the bride and groom to kiss. Ray threw her a pleading look – enough was enough. Tony groaned a horrified protest. Francesca put the fork down, and advised, ‘Get used to it, Tony. You know, I think they look sweet together.’

Ma walked over, and stood behind them, one hand on Ray’s shoulder and one on Fraser’s. Ray tilted his head back – she didn’t have to bend down far for him to give her a kiss. Having received this parental approval, Ray grinned around the table at everyone else. Incredible. The Mountie was his, and wasn’t afraid for people to know that. Incredible.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ Ray demanded as soon as he and Fraser were safely alone in the Riviera. ‘God, you almost killed me.’

‘By holding your hand, Ray?’

‘In front of everyone like that,’ he complained. He knew he was driving too fast through the dark streets, but didn’t care. ‘Why did you do that, Fraser? Just tell me why.’

‘Well, a few weeks ago you told me that we didn’t spend enough time together just for us. All our time tends to focus on work or family –’

‘Yeah, I remember. What’s your point?’

‘I thought some of that time could at least _include_ us.’

‘Oh,’ said Ray. That probably made sense.

‘And as your family have been so understanding –’

‘Hell, we’re certainly putting that to the test.’

Fraser looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There are degrees of coming out, you know. There’s telling them, and there’s rubbing their faces in it. Francesca was right – half of them were probably happy enough pretending we’re friends. Now they all _know_ we do it.’

‘Oh.’ Something was dawning on the Mountie. ‘Oh. So you’ve been discreet until now.’

‘Yeah, I guess. It’s been known to happen.’

‘I’d thought you were being surprisingly undemonstrative.’

Ray chuckled. ‘Did I disappoint you? Or was it a relief? I suppose I can be demonstrative now, can’t I, because you’ve broken the ice with a vengeance. Yeah, let’s see how Tony does react when you kiss me.’

‘It would be my pleasure, Ray.’ A pause. ‘However,’ Fraser continued carefully, ‘by nature, I’m not exactly a demonstrative person myself –’

‘It’s all right, I don’t want to push this too far. Not yet anyway. Nice to feel comfortable about it, though.’

‘Yes.’

They were driving amongst warehouses and factories, and lots filled with trucks and roofing frames. The whole place was quiet and dark, so it was almost disappointing to see lights on at Turner’s warehouse, and two cars parked out the front.

‘Doesn’t this guy have anything better to do at this time on a Saturday night?’ Ray complained. ‘It’s a bit late to be conducting business.’

‘To be fair, Ray, it seems we have nothing better to do either.’

‘Oh yes, we do,’ the cop said, but then he sighed. ‘Just the usual, though. Normally I’d be driving you home now, and we’d walk in your front door, and we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off each other.’

‘True, that is a more pleasant activity than being on a stake out. However, our current priorities –’

‘What’s that?’ Ray asked. He sat up, peered into the gloom surrounding the warehouse.

‘What?’

‘Something moving – someone’s there. I think. Yes,’ Ray added as a silhouette flitted from one stack of pallets to another. ‘There!’

‘Well spotted, Ray.’

‘Who the hell would that be?’

The figure reached a door at one side of the warehouse, and opened it. Light spilled into the night, illuminating the man’s face as he cast a glance about his surrounds, not seeing the Riviera parked in the shadows across the street.

They both recognised him. In their surprise they chorused his name – ‘Wendell!’

Fraser was already out of the Riv. Ray chased after him. They reached the door, and opened it quietly – no need to alert Turner and his personal assistant any sooner than they had to. The Inuit was nowhere in sight. Wordlessly they agreed that Fraser would continue along the brightly lit corridor that stretched before them, heading towards where they guessed Turner to be, while Ray took the dim stairway at their right, and tried to circle around.

A brief moment crowded with misgivings, watching Fraser stride silently up the corridor, walking tall and unafraid and unarmed. Ray didn’t like his lover taking this direct approach – but when did the Mountie ever take any other route? At least he wasn’t wearing his red dress uniform.

Ray shook his head, and quashed the worry. Familiar adrenalin pumped through him, welcome for the heightened alertness it brought, and resented for the sourness and restlessness it promised when all was over. He headed quickly up the stairs, on the balls of his feet, gun held ready in both hands by his right shoulder.

The stairs took Ray up beyond a complex of offices, corridors and storerooms. He headed along a catwalk high above abandoned machinery and piles of dusty junk, strange shapes looming in the dark. There were a few stairways and ladders leading back down on either side, but Turner was presumably up the far end of the building.

Closer, and Ray heard muffled voices in conversation. Not friendly, but not arguing either. He kept going, treading carefully, reached the last set of stairs, began climbing down. There was a slab of light, and the voices were clearer, which meant there were no doors between him and Turner. Ray would have to be careful not to show himself before he wanted to be seen. Still no sign of Wendell.

Creeping through a short corridor, taking a turn. It seemed Turner and the people he was talking to were in a room just beyond the next corner. Ray edged up until he was standing, back against the wall, as far as he could go. One moment to regain his breath, and he would risk peeking round the corner.

Trouble with being well-endowed, when it came to noses at least, was that he’d have to risk a fair amount of himself to get a good look. Ray leaned the back of his head against the certainty of the wall. If he was right, Fraser should be coming up to the room from the left. If Ray was lucky, they would then have both exits covered – they had noted from the Riviera that the room seemed to be in the corner of the building, with no external doors.

Turner’s conversation seemed to be about violations of building codes. Perhaps the man he was talking to was a project manager at one of Turner’s construction sites, for Turner was apparently discussing what they could get away with, and which inspectors could be bribed. John-Paul Turner seemed to be a fully rounded scumbag.

‘Hey!’

Ray’s heart kicked into overdrive. The briefest flash of fear that Turner or the bodyguard had found Fraser – a visual image of this filled Ray’s mind for an instant. There was scuffling, and protests. Couldn’t be Fraser, who either wouldn’t have got himself caught, or could have defended himself better. Ray’s next guess was Wendell, and he was soon proved correct.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ someone demanded. Perhaps the bodyguard.

‘_He_ knows.’ The Inuit – Ray recognised his anger.

A pause. ‘Yes,’ Turner said easily, ‘I know you. What are you doing here? Just what did you hope to accomplish?’

‘Bastard. I’m going to make sure you’re finished, for what you did to me and my family. My people. We brought _children_ with us,’ Wendell cried out, apparently expecting this to make an impact.

‘Do you think I care? Do you suppose anyone cares?’ Turner laughed. ‘No one cares.’ Another pause, footsteps. ‘What do you have there? Where did you find him?’

‘He was in the office.’ The bodyguard.

Ray finally risked a glance around the corner, caught an image of Wendell’s long hair caught up in the bodyguard’s fist, and papers spilling from Wendell’s hands.

‘People care,’ the Inuit boldly announced. Ray grimaced. ‘People care. There’s police officers that care, and I was finding them some evidence.’

‘You show such initiative,’ Turner commented. ‘Pity you’re hindering rather than helping me.’

A long pause. Ray took another look, saw Turner standing before Wendell, contemplating this problem. There must be at least one other man, if not more, and the bodyguard was armed. When Ray couldn’t see any more details, he withdrew again. Soon enough Fraser would expect Ray to make his play, or the Mountie would signal the cop. Soon enough. In fact, any moment now.

Turner continued, ‘I don’t think your cop friends will care for long, though, once you’re out of the way. Arrange something, will you?’ he said to the bodyguard. ‘Something tawdry, like an overdose.’

‘No!’ Wendell cried. Scuffling and struggling.

Ray looked around, and was almost bowled over as the Inuit fled past him. He let out an angry breath, and did the necessary – Ray stepped out in front of the bodyguard, gun extended, feet planted firmly, and yelled, ‘Freeze! Police!’

It did no good. The bodyguard succeeded where Wendell had failed – Ray was slammed into the wall, breath knocked out of him, and the man was past him before Ray had decided whether to shoot.

Scrambling for a lungful of air. When he could, Ray yelled, ‘Fraser?’

‘Two in here!’ the Mountie called. ‘You find Wendell.’

OK, Fraser was busy enough, but hadn’t asked for help. Ray headed off after the bodyguard.

Running feet echoing between the machinery in the dark below. Ray stood for a moment on the catwalk, trying to make out where the Inuit and the bodyguard were – but there wasn’t enough light, and the echoes meant the sound could be coming from anywhere. The footsteps stopped, first one pair and then the other. Silence. Then shuffles announced the beginning of a cat-and-mouse game.

Ray sighed, and headed quietly down the nearest stairs. Long minutes stalking in the dark, unnerving. And at last a human figure rising ahead, back to Ray, big enough to be the bodyguard rather than the Inuit. Shadow amongst shadows. Ray eased around until he could silhouette the man against the far wall, which vaguely reflected light from the office area. ‘Freeze, scumbag! Police.’

The man straightened, hands in the air. Slowly began turning around.

‘I said _freeze_, you moron!’

But the bodyguard didn’t freeze. Seems he wanted to see his opponent. Which meant he would consider charging Ray down, or drawing a weapon.

‘One step, or you move a hand, and I shoot,’ Ray warned him. ‘Right for the heart, forget this targeting the shoulder bullshit.’ First he had to establish control, then he could worry about cuffing the guy.

But the man was bold enough or stupid enough to take a step.

Ray focussed down his sights. He didn’t like having to do it, but sometimes it came to that. It scared the hell out of him that Fraser wouldn’t carry a loaded gun. ‘One last chance,’ Ray said clearly. ‘Another step and I shoot you dead, so help me God.’

The minutest shift in the bodyguard’s weight and stance, which meant he wanted to play chicken.

Shadow rising behind him. Wendell, wielding a heavy bar of some kind. Ray didn’t know whether to smile or wince as the Inuit brought it round solidly across the small of the man’s back. The bodyguard dropped to his knees with an _oof_ of breath. Wendell lifted the bar again.

‘No! That’s enough. God, you could kill him with that.’ Ray holstered his gun, and quickly cuffed the guy before he came to his senses, such as they were. ‘Come on,’ he said to both the men, encouraging the bodyguard to his feet. ‘All of us, back up to Fraser, _now_.’

The three of them headed for the nearest stairs, the bodyguard still stunned enough to be docile, and the Inuit silent.

Ray said conversationally to Wendell, ‘You know, you never did answer Turner’s question.’ Angrily he repeated it, ‘What the hell did you hope to accomplish here?’

‘I don’t know,’ Wendell replied, despondent. ‘I guess I messed things up.’

They reached the office area, found that Fraser had tied Turner and another man securely to a filing cabinet. ‘You all right?’ Ray asked.

‘Yes. And you?’

‘I’m well,’ Ray said sourly.

The Mountie was looking through some paperwork. Apparently he was in the mood to be lenient – though when wasn’t he? ‘Wendell, it’s true that you could have messed up Detective Vecchio’s investigation,’ Fraser announced, ‘but as it turned out, we have caught the principal players, with enough evidence to secure their conviction.’

‘Yeah,’ Ray said with as much severity as he could muster in the face of all this good-heartedness, ‘but don’t ever do that again, you hear?’

‘OK,’ said Wendell. He shrugged apologetically, though this was belied by the happy grin on the Inuit’s broad face. ‘OK.’

Ray grimaced, and slipped out his cell phone in order to call for the crime scene boys.

♦

Sunday. Ray figured it hadn’t been such a bad day. Fraser had attended Mass with him, they’d taken Ma Vecchio out for a nice lunch, and then he and Fraser had done some work at Francesca’s building site while the Inuit group sat back and provided advice. Francesca had brought Nathan Kennedy along after her lunch date, and introduced him to her brother and his lover. Kennedy seemed rather pleasant, and terribly rich, and thoroughly besotted with Francesca. In fact, from what he said, Kennedy admired her as much for her brains and energy as for her beauty. And Francesca had been thrilled with Ray and Fraser, of course, for arresting John-Paul Turner the previous night.

At dusk Ray had driven Fraser home, and was invited up for dinner. They had eaten with the Mountie’s camping utensils again, and Ray was now idly considering buying the man decent sets of crockery and cutlery. Perhaps it was a bit obvious, but the gift might weigh the Canadian down a little, and keep him in Chicago. It might also keep him in this apartment rather than the Vecchio home, but Ray could deal with that easier than his lover returning to the Yukon.

And now they had brought Diefenbaker and their mugs of coffee out onto the roof of the apartment building, as Fraser had once suggested weeks ago. The night was warm enough for them to sit there, backs against the parapet. Fraser was gazing up at the stars. He had begun by telling Ray which constellation was which, but Ray had soon offered, ‘I could tell you the names of each of those skyscrapers, and which street they’re on, if you really want to know.’

‘Oh,’ Fraser had said. ‘You mean you’re not interested.’

‘Right again. In Canada I’m sure you need to track your way by the stars. Here in Chicago if we ever lose our way we hail a taxi.’

‘I see.’

They had fallen silent then, and Ray had felt closer to contentment than he had for a long while. Well, he supposed he wasn’t close really, but contentment seemed to lurk just around the corner, if only he could sneak up and tackle it before it ran away again.

‘Ray,’ Fraser eventually said. He had that tone in his voice which meant he wanted to talk about something serious.

‘Oh, _what_?’ Ray said. ‘I was just starting to think about getting happy again, and now you’re going to blow it entirely by talking over what you see as a problem.’

‘We do seem to have problems, Ray.’

‘I know. If we just leave them alone, maybe they’ll go away.’

‘You know ignoring them won’t do any good.’

‘It was worth a try,’ Ray morosely asserted.

A pause, during which anyone less restrained than Fraser would have sighed. ‘Ray, I don’t imagine I’ll be returning to the Yukon to live, but I –’

‘Yeah, you said that already.’

Fraser had turned his head to regard Ray. ‘You still don’t believe me, do you? You were right – I do love the country. I was thinking that we might vacation there every other year.’ He must have seen Ray’s doubt, for Fraser continued, ‘If you accompany me to the Yukon, on alternate vacations I could come to Florida with you.’

Ray felt a grin threaten at the thought of one of them always being horribly out of his depth on shared vacations – but he repressed the humour. So what if the Mountie paid attention, and thought about things. They still had problems. ‘All right,’ Ray said. ‘It’s a deal.’

‘A few weeks ago, you asked why I hadn’t come to live with you yet, and I said that I didn’t know.’

‘Yeah. Doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course it matters.’ The Mountie stared up into the night sky. ‘If your family are happy for me to share your home, I would love to. But not yet. I need some more time, Ray. I have been solitary for so long now that I need time to adjust to the idea, though I’ve been alone more out of circumstance than choice. I’m afraid that if we advance too quickly, we will put unnecessary pressure on our relationship.’

‘Oh,’ said Ray.

‘What we have together is very precious to me.’ Fraser said this with all his bland sincerity. ‘You were correct when you said that part of me will never quite belong in Chicago, but I have friends and family and neighbours here now. Francesca’s building project has helped me realise I am part of a community, Ray, and I’ve never really felt that before. I don’t want to leave any of this behind. Can you accept the situation for now?’

A brief silence as Ray figured this all made sense. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

Fraser was looking at him again, puzzled as if Ray was a particularly tough case that the Mountie needed to solve. The wolf wandered over and nuzzled into one of Ray’s palms. Fraser asked, ‘What is the real problem, Ray? What reason do you have for not believing me? Do you have so little faith in what I say?’

Ray sighed, and patted Diefenbaker. Perhaps he had just enough faith to say this, trusting that Fraser wouldn’t hurt him any worse than he had to. ‘I’ve been sad,’ Ray said, ‘because I realise I don’t make you happy. I love you, but I’m not enough for you, I’m not good enough for you, I guess I knew that all along. You need someone who’ll make you happy, Fraser. That’s why it’s hard to believe you’ll ever live with me, or you won’t go back to the Yukon, or whatever.’

‘Oh.’ Apparently this made everything clearer to Fraser. He shifted so that he could speak more directly to his lover. ‘But I’m not a happy person, Ray. I wasn’t brought up that way. I was taught that honour and duty are important, doing your best, learning all you can, helping others. I was never taught much about happiness. Any lack of it in me isn’t your fault, and it shouldn’t be your problem. I love you, very much. You are beautiful to me.’

Ray let out a humourless laugh. ‘Francesca was right. Love is blind and stupid.’

Fraser reached to hold his hand, there under the stars for all the world to see. ‘You’re a beautiful person, Ray, inside and out.’ A silence as Fraser considered something. ‘I’ve learned my own lessons, too. My grandparents weren’t always correct. I do believe that happiness can’t be a goal in itself, but it is the result of working towards your best goals. And I am doing that, Ray. I am content, perhaps more content than I’ve ever been. I have you, and your family, I have friends and a community around me. Perhaps once I am more settled, happiness will be a natural outcome.’

‘Yeah.’ Ray felt that melting sensation inside his chest, which meant the Mountie had just made everything all right yet again. He frowned, wary of trusting it, though every instinct he had just wanted to take Fraser into his arms and share the melting with him.

Fraser was still worrying over something, though. ‘Love isn’t blind, Ray. In fact, I think it enables me to see you more clearly than I could otherwise. You are beautiful, and one day you’ll know that. God made you, He created you, and you are therefore incredible. If you can’t love yourself yet, then begin by loving the Holy Spirit that dwells in your heart.’ He glanced away, and found inspiration. ‘Once there was a monastery –’

Ray grinned. ‘An Inuit monastery?’

‘No. It was deep in a forest, and hardly anyone visited it. There were only a few old monks there, no young men at all, and they feared that as they died the monastery would die with them. One day a wise man stopped there on a journey of his own, and the monks asked whether he had any advice he could offer to help them keep the monastery alive. The wise man thought about this, and said that he had no advice to give, but he also said that he knew one of the monks was the Messiah.’

‘Uh huh,’ Ray said encouragingly, wondering where Fraser got all these crazy stories.

‘The monks looked at each other. One of them was the Messiah, and they didn’t know who. They began treating each other with great respect, and they behaved with honesty and dignity. True grace descended on that monastery, and everyone felt it. Soon the people who lived nearby began visiting. A young man took his vows and joined the monks, and then another did. The monastery had found new life.’

‘And the moral is…’

‘Perhaps you are the Messiah, Ray, or perhaps I am, or perhaps any one of the hundred people you meet in a day. Treat them accordingly. But, most importantly, treat yourself accordingly, too.’

‘Cool.’ They sat there together, feeling peaceful. Ray thought vaguely back over all that had been said that evening. ‘You know, I bet Ma’s going to start asking you to move in with me. She adores you. But don’t let her pressure you into anything, all right?’

‘All right,’ the Mountie stoically agreed.

Ray lifted their clasped hands. ‘Thanks for doing this last night at home. I never really thought we’d – Well, you know, it’s nice to feel that comfortable with my family.’ He turned his head to meet Fraser’s gaze. ‘Thanks, Benny.’

‘Any time, Ray.’ They looked at each other for a while, their gazes dwelling together, engaging and exploring and opening up the mysteries beyond simple sight. Eventually Fraser murmured, ‘I’m sorry to lower the tone of our communication, and I’ve endeavoured to resist the urge tonight, but I’m afraid I can’t keep my hands off you after all.’

‘That’s good,’ Ray said. ‘Let’s go do something about it.’ They stood, and Ray carefully followed Fraser down the fire escape and into Fraser’s apartment through the window. Diefenbaker tactfully remained on the roof.

‘Let’s do something shocking,’ the Mountie suggested, taking Ray into a light embrace.

‘Oh.’ That was another thing not quite right between them. Fraser often asked to be shocked, but Ray continued to rely on all the simple things, unwilling to really risk – _What?_ he asked himself. ‘What did you have in mind?’

A lovely undemanding kiss, and then Fraser pulled away, headed for his trunk. He unlocked it, rummaged around inside, and then proudly produced something. A bottle of maple syrup.

Ray groaned. ‘No, you’ve got to be kidding. You took me seriously?’

‘Of course I did, Ray.’

‘Oh God. Forget it.’ Though even as he spoke, beautiful silly sweet images crowded Ray’s imagination. ‘Hell, maybe some other time, but not now, Benny.’

‘Then, there is something I’ve been curious about trying.’ Fraser rummaged around in the trunk again, and produced a large hardcover book.

Ray edged closer to read the title – it was, of course, _The Joy of Gay Sex_. He’d never seen this infamous volume before, despite Fraser mentioning it on occasion, and Ray had begun to suspect his lover was simply teasing him. ‘What?’ he asked suspiciously.

Fraser quickly flipped through the pages, soon finding what he wanted. He glanced through it, then considered Ray. ‘Perhaps we need to undress first,’ Fraser suggested.

‘Oh God.’ The Mountie was approaching him, walking tall and true and sure. Difficult, but Ray stood his ground, let Fraser take him deep into his arms, let Fraser kiss him strong and beautiful until the fear went away. Let Fraser lead him to the narrow cot.

_your love is better than ice cream_  
better than anything else that I’ve tried  
your love is better than ice cream  
everyone here knows how to fight

_and it’s a long way down_  
it’s a long way down  
it’s a long way down  
to the place where we started from

Fraser frowned and picked up the book. Ray was staring hard at him, apparently uncertain whether to be distraught. ‘Your left leg, Ray,’ Fraser informed him. ‘I believe it should be over here.’

‘What do I look like – a gymnast?’ Despite the complaint, Ray endeavoured to comply.

Although he had long ago memorised all this, Fraser made a show of consulting the book again. ‘Now, the next step is to –’

‘If it has anything to do with inserting tab A into slot B, you’re out of luck.’

‘No, Ray, that would be impossible from this position. Now if you’d move your right arm to let me –’

‘Oh God, this is ridiculous.’

Caught halfway through shifting, Fraser cocked an innocent eyebrow at the man.

Ray let out a breath, and it turned into a disbelieving laugh. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘Well, no, Ray. The manual suggests that –’ He picked up the book, and began to quote the passage in a deadpan voice.

The laugh turned into a giggle. ‘To hell with the manual – I can do that for you without all these contortions. Come here, you great idiot.’

Fraser let the book drop to the floor, and eased into Ray’s embrace. He smiled as Ray’s giggles refused to quieten.

‘Do you have any idea how ridiculous you looked doing that?’

‘No,’ he replied mildly.

‘Here, lose the hat, will you?’ The Stetson was unceremoniously dumped on the floor. ‘I tell you, next time we’re just trying the maple syrup. And you’re _not_ reading the instructions on the bottle beforehand, OK?’

‘All right, Ray,’ Fraser said. The man was still giggling intermittently, so Fraser kissed his throat instead of his mouth. The thing was, Fraser found he couldn’t stop smiling.

_your love is better than chocolate_  
better than anything else that I’ve tried  
oh love is better than chocolate  
everyone here knows how to cry

_it’s a long way down_  
it’s a long way down  
it’s a long way down  
to the place where we started from

♦


End file.
